


words that make me surfeit with delight

by TheGreenMeridian



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: M/M, Pre Canon, Talking dirty about getting fucked while doing the fucking, and vice versa, role play (in a sense)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:35:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29548032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreenMeridian/pseuds/TheGreenMeridian
Summary: Henry paints a beautiful picture. John acts out its mirror.
Relationships: John Bridgens/Henry "Harry" Peglar
Comments: 7
Kudos: 34
Collections: The Terror Bingo





	words that make me surfeit with delight

**Author's Note:**

> Rewrote the summary and tags for this thing like 300 times trying to find a coy and poetic way to describe what is happening here but like *shrug* it’s pure filth lads.
> 
> For the bingo square “role play”
> 
> The title is from Christopher Marlowe’s Edward II. Which is about the IRL homoerotic relationship between the king and his ‘favorite’, Piers Gaveston.

“John?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Do you prefer it the way we do it? Or would you rather I have you, instead?”

John chuckles and presses a kiss to the top of Henry’s head. “I am very happy with what we do, there’s no worry to be had about that.”

“I believe you. I’ve got evidence enough still dripping from my arse.”

“Christ, the mouth on you,” John mutters, scandalised even as he considers rolling Henry over to see for himself.

There’s a snort of laughter against John’s chest. “Hush, you like my mouth. But what I meant was, if you wanted to have me do the taking... well, it feels so bloody good when you do it to me, I don’t want you missing out.”

“I’ve done it, certainly. I don’t much mind it, but I don’t much care for it either.” He thinks on it a moment, and remembers his previous attempts at the act. All so long ago now, when he was young and just discovering his desires were shared by others and not an aberration distinct to himself. “If you’d care to try it though, see how it feels, I’d be willing.”

“Don’t just agree to it on my account, John. I want to please you, not have you tolerate something to please me.”

“It would please me. If it were you.”

He kisses the top of Henry’s head again and tugs him a little closer by his hip. Whether he gets much enjoyment from being taken or not, having Henry do it to him would be a joy simply because it would be another way in which to experience him. He closes his eyes and lets his imagination call up hazy memories of the sensation of taking a prick, overlaid with wonderings of how the knowledge of it being Henry might change the experience.

“I think I should like it very much indeed, if it were you,” he says again. “You’ve a lovely prick. Not too much of it, but enough I’d feel it in the right spots.”

“Mm. I’d use it well on you, too,” Henry sighs contentedly against his breast. “You set a good example.”

John grins and rolls over, pinning Henry beneath himself. “Oh, do I now? What have you picked up from me, then?”

“That I should open you up slowly on my fingers,” Henry says, wriggling to be more firmly secured beneath him. “And when you’re nice and stretched out, when I’ve got you gasping, I’ll push myself right the way into you and stay stock still until you’re begging me to fuck you.”

God help him, he’s starting to rise again. Of course he is. Any fears he’d originally had keeping up with a younger lover, especially one as insatiable as Henry, had fast proved unfounded. His darling is like something created wholesale from his most decadent of fantasies, a body sculpted by the Greeks and a mind as filthy as any gutter. John needs only a smirk, a smile, a whispered word, and he’s hungry for whatever Henry might give him. 

He pushes his fingers to Henry’s lips and groans as Henry sucks them into the familiar cavern of his mouth. It’s almost a shame to take them away but he has another use for them, and another demand of Henry’s devilish tongue, too. 

“Like this?” he asks, pressing two fingers deep into Henry’s slack hole. “You won’t need as much work as I might. Still loose for me.”

Henry nods, chewing at his lip. “Yeah. Yeah, just like that, John. Three of them, though. Maybe four. Want you—fuck—want you properly ready for me.”

He hisses as John takes the hint and spears him on four of his fingers. Even loose from their last fuck and wet with John’s spend and leftover oil, it’s a stretch. John can feel how swollen and well used his rim is. He might feel remorse for this, later, when Henry is limping and sore, but not now. Not while Henry pants and pushes back onto his fingers, not while his darling siren makes it so abundantly clear how much he enjoys such treatment.

The squelch when he slides his fingers free is obscene and both of them groan to hear it. John groans again when he catches sight of Henry’s prick, stiff and laying heavy against the flat plane of his stomach. A few pulls to himself has his own stand good enough to work with. He presses the tip of it to Henry’s body, eyebrow raised and expression as calm as he can manage.

“I think this came next in your plan, yes?” he asks roughly.

He gives Henry no chance to answer before sheathing himself entirely. God but the boy takes it well. Blossoming open like a rosebud, pulling him in and clutching at him as if to keep him there for eternity. He strokes down Henry’s side, hitches a well-muscled thigh up around his hip to push that quarter inch deeper. Every animalistic instinct within tells him to move, to claim, to fuck, but he holds himself steady.

At last Henry’s eyes blink up at him, hazy with lust yet still retaining the cheek John adores.

“What next, my love,” John rasps. “When you’re in me nice and deep, and I beg you to move, how will you fuck me?”

“Slow. Slow, John, like—oh, God, like that. Roll my hips and—and get that spot in you like you get mine.”

He gasps in a breath and throws his head back, and John swoops down to suck at the tendons of his neck. Each measured thrust has Henry whining softly in the back of his throat. Each grind against Henry’s insides makes him quiver around John’s length. Fucking him a second time is always like this. John can go as hard as anything the first time but the second, he’s learned, needs to be slow. Henry is so oversensitive, his body so unwilling to accept more pleasure even as his mind cries out for it. It is up to John to push him past the discomfort and into new and devastating heights, a task to which John is only too happy to commit himself.

“Would you touch me as you fucked me, my love,” he asks, nipping at Henry’s ear.

Henry nods, grabbing weakly at his hair. “Yes. Yes, I’d—oh, I’d feel your lovely broad chest and—”

He breaks off into a whine as John runs his hand across Henry’s chest, dragging his thumb deliberately over a pert nipple.

“What next? What will you do to me next?”

“Take you in hand,” he gasps. “Get that—that big yard in my hand and pull at you like you do me. In time with how I fuck you.”

Again John mirrors the fantasy, holding Henry’s prick in the loosest of grips. Just as Henry prefers when being fucked a second time.

“This would fit wonderfully in me, my darling,” John says against Henry’s neck.

Damn it, he wants it. Any past ambivalence to the act is washed away as he imagines their positions reversed, Henry curled over him and rocking into him, his body wrapped around Henry’s modest prick as it pushes into him in the same slow and forceful way as his own moves in Henry now. He wants to hear Henry panting in his ear as he claws at his shoulders. Wants to feel the heavy slap of Henry’s balls against the swell of his arse. Whatever Henry will give him, whatever he can take.

He can feel the steady ache of need building in the pit of his stomach and the muscles of his thighs, a heady haze of desire turning him bolder, needier.

“Would you spend in me?” he rasps, tasting the salt of Henry’s skin on his lips.

Henry moans and lifts up into him. “Yes. Yes, I’d—just like you do to me. God, John, it feels—”

“I know, my sweet, I know.” He flicks his thumb over Henry’s oozing tip and feels him spasm in response. “Not until I’ve come off around you, though.”

“No. I’d want—mm—want to feel you. Want to see you spill all over your chest.”

“Such a mess you’ll make of me, my sweet,” he whispers roughly.

He feels it the moment it starts, Henry’s innermost muscles tightening with sweet violence around him as he begins to shake, a weak spurt of seed spilling from his prick. John follows him but a a few harsh thrusts later as Henry mutters his name and lays wet kisses wherever he can reach. As the last of it leaves him, so too does the strength in his arms, and he falls onto Henry with a soft huff. Any thought that he should move is gone in an instant; Henry’s arms wind around his back and pin him in place.

“Would you really let me?” Henry mumbles, his voice slurred with exhaustion.

“I would.” He drags himself off of Henry’s body and falls gladly into a mirror of their position at the beginning of this little fantasy: his head atop Henry’s breast and his body tucked beneath his arm. “I would let you do a great manner of things to me, dear heart.”

“I shall have to get thinking, then. When my mind works again.”

John chuckles lazily and closes his eyes. They ought to wash, he knows, but that would require more strength than his spent body can possibly muster. No, let them sleep. Henry is not prissy about such things and John will not later find dried spend on his skin so disturbing as to regret allowing himself rest now. He presses a last, clumsy kiss to Henry’s chest and mumbles something affectionate at him. The answer comes as whispered love against his crown, and a tender caress of his hip.


End file.
